


keep you warm until the winter goes away

by Lysippe



Series: The Worst Witch 2018 Winter Fluff-A-Thon [11]
Category: The Worst Witch (TV 2017), The Worst Witch - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, angst and insecurity and fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-11
Updated: 2018-12-11
Packaged: 2019-09-16 11:36:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16953285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lysippe/pseuds/Lysippe
Summary: Pippa supposed it was a bit silly, a bit overly romantic; utterly impractical, of course, and Hecate had made certain to remind her of that.  A thick, wine-colored afghan, worn soft by age and years of use. A roaring fire in the oft-neglected fireplace, pink-and-orange sparks flickering in the dim light of the room. A warm meal in ceramic bowls, pilfered long ago from the kitchens, for the rare occasion on which Pippa decided against eating in the dining hall with the rest of the school, and an ancient, somewhat dented copper kettle for tea. It had been meant to set the mood. To provide a pleasant environment in which to enjoy the falling snow, and to enjoy one another’s company.





	keep you warm until the winter goes away

**Author's Note:**

> Apparently angst and insecurity are just really my thing in this series, because of course they would be, for a fluff challenge. What else would I do?

Pippa supposed it was a bit silly, a bit overly romantic; utterly impractical, of course, and Hecate had made certain to remind her of that.  A thick, wine-colored afghan, worn soft by age and years of use. A roaring fire in the oft-neglected fireplace, pink-and-orange sparks flickering in the dim light of the room. A warm meal in ceramic bowls, pilfered long ago from the kitchens, for the rare occasion on which Pippa decided against eating in the dining hall with the rest of the school, and an ancient, somewhat dented copper kettle for tea. It had been meant to set the mood. To provide a pleasant environment in which to enjoy the falling snow, and to enjoy one another’s company. 

Honestly, it had been primarily for her own benefit. Hecate, ever practical, would see little point to it all. Would recognize her efforts, acknowledge them, perhaps even understand their significance and humor Pippa. But ultimately, she would not gain the same satisfaction, the same simple pleasure, from it. 

And Pippa was okay with that. She was, even after so many years, quite well versed in the ways in which Hecate showed her affection. In the way she pressed a hand to Pippa’s heart on nights when everything was just a little much, gentle and firm, the weight reminding it to keep beating; in the soft, private smiles only granted when they were alone, with no possibility of anyone seeing the depth of affection in Hecate’s eyes; in the way she rested her head on Pippa’s shoulder after a long day, a long week, face pressed into the crook of Pippa’s neck, breathing her in, allowing herself to come apart, just slightly.

In the way she remembered all of those things, from so long ago. The way so many things had changed, in their lives, in their hearts, but just as many had stayed the same.

And Hecate met her expectations flawlessly. She had, upon first entering Pippa’s rooms, glanced around. Taken in the dim lighting, the roaring fire, the bowls on the small side table, and understood. Graciously accepted all offers of food, tea, and company, and more than kept up her end of the conversation. She had even, to Pippa’s great surprise, willingly allowed Pippa to wrap them both in the afghan. 

And so, when Hecate finally cracked, when her overly practical nature finally reared its head, Pippa was honestly only surprised that it had taken so long.

It was something completely innocuous. Pippa, complaining of the cold, had huddled in closer to Hecate, nestling icy fingers between their bodies to warm them up.

Hecate had jumped, slightly, not expecting the cold on the bare skin of her arm. “Honestly, Pippa,” she said, sounding mildly put out. “You’re  _ freezing _ . Why do you insist on doing things this way?” She gestured toward the fire, the blanket, they way they were huddled, on the couch, breath wisps of condensation into the air anytime too much cold are slipped through the cracks.  “You realize that we are  _ witches _ , do you not? That we can use  _ magic _ ?”

Pippa managed at the last moment to keep herself from rolling her eyes at the indignation in Hecate’s voice, the pointed emphasis on the word  _ magic _ , as though she believed that Pippa may have actually forgotten. And she knew exactly what Hecate was suggesting, what her ever-practical mind had decided  _ needed  _ to be pointed out, right now.  But she also knew herself, fairly well, at least, and as patiently as she would humor Hecate, she had never been one to give in easily.

“Hecate,” she said, very seriously, dragging the name out, savoring the way it felt on her tongue. “I am, as a matter of fact, the headmistress of a school  _ specifically for magic _ . That I founded. In part,  _ with my magic. _ That is  _ a part of me _ .” Pippa gave a brief, impish grin, and reached out to tap one icy finger to the tip of Hecate’s nose, precisely because she knew it would rankle her just a little bit.

And it did. Hecate’s nose wrinkled in distaste, and she rolled her eyes. Sighed, long and low and just on the border of frustration. Knowing full well that she was being toyed with. “Then why, exactly, do you insist upon huddling together under blankets in front of a fire as a means to stay warm, when a simple warming spell would be both faster and more effective?”

Having finally asked the question that had clearly been simmering in the back of her mind all evening, Hecate looked at once relieved, and genuinely curious.

Pippa fixed Hecate with a long stare. “Because, Hiccup,” she said, quietly and ever-patient, “It gives me an excuse to do this.”

She leaned in, carefully--always cautious with Hecate, still,  looking for the tell-tale signs of consent she had learned to read long ago \--and pressed her lips to Hecate’s. Gently, softly, but she came away breathless just the same.  She always did.

“We--we could to that without freezing on your couch, too, Pippa,” Hecate said, flushed, a confused edge to her voice. 

Pippa smiled, crookedly. “We  _ could _ ,” she said. “But  perhaps this is one of those instances in which you should accept that I am just a  _ tad  _ bit more of a romantic than you are.”

“I feel as though I should be insulted by that.” Hecate’s expression, however, was one of mild concern, and a hint of insecurity that Pippa could see her trying to hide.

But Hecate had never been any good at hiding things from her.

Pippa nudged Hecate’s shoulder with her own, snuggling in closer. “Nonsense,” she said matter-of-factly. “You can’t help your nature any more than I can help mine. It’s hardly a defect.”

Hecate looked at her curiously, letting a not-uncomfortable silence hang between them for a long moment. “There are a great many people who would disagree with you,” she said at last, “about my nature.”

It was true, Pippa knew. It had always been true. Even as children, their peers had found Hecate too severe, too snappish, too brilliant in a way that was equal parts impressive and terrifying. It had only been Pippa who saw the wry humor carefully hidden in Hecate’s seriousness; the intensity of work that led to her ever-exemplary performances; the passion and dedication to her magic that was quite unlike Pippa had ever seen, or would ever see. And she had never been able to understand, then, why their peers were so insistent, so personally affronted by their friendship. Why no one else could see what she saw.

It was only years later, far too late, that it had occurred to her that the reason may have had less to do with her, and more to do with Hecate. That perhaps, she was the only one Hecate  _ allowed  _ to see that side of herself.

Hecate, mistaking her silence for assent, shifted away uncomfortably, disentangling herself from Pippa’s touch. “I could--” she began, her words overly quiet, “--I could. Try. To change that. If you wanted me to.”

The words chilled Pippa in an entirely new way, felt like ice filling her bloodstream, seeping into her bones.  _ To change. If you wanted me to. _ “ _ No _ ,” she said, the word hard and horrified and a little bit angry. 

“Surely,” Hecate said, her voice carefully measured, unnaturally even, “there are a great many things that you would change about me, if given the chance.”

Pippa took a deep, steadying breath. Pushed down her temper, her anger at the situation, at the insinuation that she might ever want to  _ change _ anyone, at the idea that she might ever want Hecate to be anyone other than exactly who she was. She knew it wasn’t meant as an insult, that it was never meant as any sort of commentary about  _ her _ . That this was the product of years of hidden insecurity, years of being told she was too cold, too intense, too  _ something _ . That her anger would do neither of them any good now. 

“Hecate,” she said, as soft, as gentle as she could, pushing the weight of all the love she felt, the love she had felt for so long, into her words. “I need you to listen to me, and to  _ try _ to believe me, even if it doesn’t quite work, when I tell you that there is nothing--  _ absolutely nothing _ \-- that I would change about you. No matter how many chances I was given.”

Hecate sighed heavily, her eyes weary, looking like she was about to launch some kind of counter-argument. But Pippa never gave her the chance.

“ _ Listen to me _ , Hecate.” Pippa knew her voice was a little too frustrated, her words a little too ferocious, but she couldn’t help it. “It was you, exactly as you are, that I fell in love with. And it was you, exactly as you were, that I loved all those years ago.  _ All of you _ . And I understand that you have difficulty believing that. But please,” her voice broke, the words raw and broken and saturated with thirty years of hurt, “please, just  _ try _ .”

“I--” Hecate started, shutting her eyes tight, closing herself off from her surroundings. Grounding herself, Pippa realized. “I can’t promise that I will ever believe that.”

“I know.” Her whisper was so soft, Pippa almost thought she hadn’t said anything at all. She leaned in, closing the distance between them slowly, waiting for Hecate to relax into her touch before moving closer. Gratified when she did. “I  _ know _ , Hiccup. But you are exactly the person you need to be. And I want you to be that person. Regardless of what anyone else may think. You don’t have to be perfect.” She paused, waited for Hecate to open her eyes, to see exactly how serious she was. “But you’re perfect for me. You’ve always been. And I love you for it.”

It was with a shuddering breath, and words far more tremulous than Pippa knew Hecate would have preferred, that Hecate nodded finally, and said simply, “I love you, too.”

**Author's Note:**

> Join me on Tumblr @ thebestdressedrebelinhistory


End file.
